Honor Bound
by ZealousPhoenix245
Summary: 4E 261 – sixty years after the Dragon Crisis and fifty-five after the fall of the Cyrodiilic Empire, a golden age has settled across Tamriel under the rule of the Thalmor. However, all is not as well as it seems. When plans are revealed, it becomes a race against time to save not only Nirn, but Mundus as a whole. Existance is in their hands - if only saving it was that easy...
1. Prologue: War of Fate

_**The Elder Scrolls: Honor Bound**_

By: ZealousPhoenix245

Disclaimer: I don't own Elder Scrolls or any of the TES lore I will utilize for the duration of this story. All rights go to their respective persons.

Quick Authoress' Note: Alright, here's my revised prologue. I kept some of the wording (namely the last several paragraphs/lines), but did change some of it to be a little more compliant with my storyline. You'll probably notice that I've taken down my other chapters - that's because I'm in the process of revising them, and they'll not make any sense as I get into individually updating them. I'm somewhat starting from scratch here, so, again, bear with me.

Well, enjoy this revised prologue!

* * *

**_Full Summary_**:

4E 261 – sixty years after the Dragon Crisis and fifty-five after the fall of the Cyrodiilic Empire, a golden age has settled across Tamriel under the rule of the Thalmor. However, all is not as well as it seems. For the past thirty years, Thalmor forces have been purging and enslaving human cities, driving the survivors into hidden underground settlements in a fight for preservation. When it becomes clear that something more sinister is going on than meets the eye and that the existence of Mundus as a whole is at stake, it becomes a race against time to put a stop to the Thalmor's plans. The fate of not only Nirn, but the entirety of human-kind ultimately rests in their hands - if only saving it were that easy...

* * *

**_Prologue: War of__ Fate_**

* * *

What are we, really? In the eyes of our fellow men and mer, in the eyes of the Aedra, the Daedra, the Godhead – what do we amount to? What _are_ we?

Are we simply pawns in a larger game, or are we more than that, the manipulators of our own fates and destinies? Where does our individuality end? Where does it begin? Where do _we_ begin?

Or do we even exist at all?

Sometimes, more questions arise than answers, and all we're left with is that simple inquiry that has plagued us for millennia – whether or not we are real or something dreamed up by a greater power. Mistakes shrouded in mystery and deceit, the fantasy of an entity too great and terrible to imagine. If we were created, the product of a stagnant and wayward idea…then are we real at all?

And if, all boiled down, we are simply shadows of a rampant idea, to what extent do we control ourselves? Others? What is the purpose of autonomy if it is but an illusion dreamed up by the Godhead? What is the purpose of reality if it is so easily manipulated?

Again, one is left with more questions than fathomable answers, and so the cycle repeats as it will forever inevitably do…

But, alas, I am getting ahead of myself. The story I am about to weave is not one for the faint at heart. I'm not exactly sure how it started, what key _really_ set the events in motion, but all that should matter is that they _were_. The cataclysm beginning the cycle of events occurred. Whether it had been the Second Great War, the fall of the Empire, the Great Purge, Laloria, the formation of the Order, or even Convention itself, it happened, and time is irreversible, its existence - irrevocable. Or, so I once believed.

Now, _this_ is where one should heed my warnings. This is not a story of a petty squabble falsely dubbed a "war". Oh, no, this is so, so, _so_ much more dastardly, horrific, _real_…

For, this is the tale of a war of races, a war of differences, a war of survival. A war predestined to be lost, of unpredictability. A war of fate, if you will, because fate can be so unpredictable.

But it was still a war. And the battles had to be fought. However, there had to be someone to fight them left in the first place, to live to tell the tales and never let the legend die. So, this is my story. My account of this conflict and all of the little details that go along with it are encased here. And I have but one question to be left to fester:

What will you do with this knowledge?

Will you use it to better future judgment? Will you leave it for the next, taking no action? Or will you not heed the warnings sewn within and start another war akin to its predecessor?

Regardless of what you choose to do, how you choose to wield this Power of Words, this Voice of reason…

I only hope you'll _listen _to it.

* * *

Final Words: Okay, I would like to point out now that I will be using a LOT of TES lore. If you don't like getting somewhat immersed in lore (it's not quite that bad, but just warning you now...) then I'm politely telling you to GET OUT. I will also be using and referencing some of Michael Kirkbride's work, of which is not officially considered canon by about half of the fanbase of TES and of which Bethesda is not giving a straight answer on. The canon of Kirkbride's work is up for debate, but for the sake of my plot, I have deemed it workable to assume that it is canon. Don't like that? Don't read my story. Plain and simple.

Also, I took the liberty of, since this is going to take place some years AFTER Skyrim, creating a few historical events (the Second Great War, fall of the Empire, the Great Purge, Laloria, etc.) and all that aren't really self-explanatory WILL be explained in-detail later on. Just to avoid confusion.

I am also still accepting THREE people who would be interested in going over my plot and helping me in my frantic re-checking (I'm on my third run through if that's any indication of how thorough I'm being) of the accuracy of the lore I'm using (Kirkbride's stuff not included as, like I've mentioned, his stuff is up to debate canon-wise and I am AWARE of this). I would appreciate an outside view. PM me if you're interested.

Anyway, I hope this was teaser-y enough. And, as always, R&R!

Thanks,  
~ZealousPhoenix


	2. Chapter 1: Sanctuary

**_The Elder Scrolls: Honor Bound_**

By: ZealousPhoenix245

Disclaimer: I don't own Elder Scrolls; all rights go to their respective peoples.

Quick Authoress' Note: Yeah, not much to say here other than I'm not sure really if I should label this chapter something akin to a second prologue or the first chapter. The reason I say that is that the rest of the story is going to take place in first person as opposed to the third person this chapter is in. Hmm...

At the bottom, I give an explanation of a few of the events mentioned here that give a more generic idea as to what has gone on (at least, in my messed up mind) during the sixty year gap between TES V: Skyrim and now. Just saying, check at the bottom of the chapter if you get confused or anything...

As always, enjoy!

* * *

"'Cause you are not alone  
I'm always there with you.  
And we'll get lost together,  
'till the light comes pouring through.  
'Cause when you feel like you're done,  
and the darkness has won,  
I said, 'Babe, you're not lost.'"

~Michael Bublé "Lost"

* * *

Chapter 1: Sanctuary

* * *

Morndas, 8th of Midyear, 4E 261  
Continent of Tamriel, Province of Valenwood, Outskirts of Falinesti  
7:32 AM

* * *

"You're going to give yourself a headache if you keep thinking like that," the voice rang out from behind him, though it did little in terms of shocking him as he'd heard the footsteps distinctively against the branches strewn across the forest floor. Still, from beneath the shroud of his dark ultramarine hood, Neldam Llethri couldn't help the mocking grin from spreading across his grey-skinned face. There was something about Feric's jibes that never failed to darkly amuse him.

"Ah, but how would you know what I am thinking? That would imply _you_ could think to place the pieces together," he sang, morbidly gleeful as his smirk widened. "Let's not forget, since when did you show concern over my health, Feric?"

The glare he received for the comment probably could have cut straight through Netch hide, but no comment other than a scornful snort was given as the Breton man lowered himself to sit to the right beside Neldam on the fallen, moss covered log. It was a clear morning, if the Dunmer mage was honest with his observations, and Tamriel dutifully reflected the origins of her name in the form of refreshingly cool dew and a blinding glare caught from the late end of sunrise. Even through the thick canopy of overhead leaves, golden splotches of light danced merrily to a silent, hypnotic tune that echoed through the rainforest that was Valenwood. Somewhere inside, the dark elf felt the stirrings belonging to the fraying ends of a tranquility he had long since thought lost to him.

Peering out at his companion from beneath the rim of his robes' cowl, he gave a dry, barking laugh, "I'll say, though, you sure got old. It looks like you went and decided to try turning your face to paper! Certainly, if you were that bored, I'm sure you could have found other, more productive ways of amusing yourself, hmm?" And it was true. In the long years since Neldam had seen him, Feric's once stark raven hair had gone mostly grey with only the barest few strands still peppering it with midnight, and lines both fine and gouging spider-webbed across the Breton's face in a promise of many a tale buried somewhere in his past. Even the familiar crisscrossing scars on the other male's left cheek seemed a shade of white lighter with time.

In short, the man had not aged well for a member of his race, and Neldam couldn't help feeling somewhat wary of the fact.

"Yes, well, not all of us mere mortals can escape from such things, Llethri," Feric sneered. "Ten years will do that to a person. You should try it sometime! I hear it does _wonders_ for the ability known as adapting common sense." The elf just shook his head, bringing up a withered grey hand to absently tug the hood further to hide his crimson eyes.

"Things have not changed these past years. You're still as cynical as ever," he commented offhandedly as he began fiddling needlessly with one of the many pouches draped off of the belt around his waist.

The Breton gave one of his trademark, mocking snorts, "And you're just as annoyingly _undead_, but, you know, can't win them all." Neldam didn't have to see his friend's face to know that it was contorted in a sneer with the teeth bared dangerously. Also, the elf didn't have to glance at the back of Feric's neck to be able to tell that the hair had raised much like the bristling of a wolf's fur…

He shot his friend an iridescent glare, eyes revealed from the shadows of his hood to show their glowing, vampiric nature with an indignant sniff, "At least I have dignity in how I treat my meals. Quick and painless. Mauling them is rather impolite."

"At least I kill them _before_ eating them."

"Please, you call that courtesy? You tear their faces off!"

"Hey, I'm putting them out of their misery in the grand scheme of things, aren't I?" Feric shrugged. "Who said they didn't suffer a little beforehand?" While the werewolf had a point (and he couldn't deny that he really was just as bad, sans it being in a slightly different manner), Neldam refused to acknowledge such and leaned forward, resting his chin on his left palm. To his right, his companion's mouth was twitching in resistance to a victorious smile.

Neldam rolled his eyes, "Insufferable wolf."

"Overgrown bat," the wolf in question shot back with a feral growl, not missing a beat.

"Rabid dog."

"Blood-fiend pain in my - !"

"Enough!" a feminine, accented voice broke through their arguing that had gone on the verge of becoming physical (they had turned towards each other and had hands frighteningly close to the daggers at their waists). "I swear, every time the five of us meet, you two end up at each other's throats!" Where Feric yelped and jumped at least a few feet in the air, the Dunmer whipped his head around and flicked an elven throwing dagger in the general direction of the voice, missing Maeve's head by mere inches. The blond-haired Skaal woman only stared unflinchingly with impassive ice-blue eyes, not a stranger to her comrade's instinctive reaction.

He let out a sigh of relief, deciding to be kind and ignore the fact that Feric's face had gone a shade to match the ivory of his robes, "Maeve. You should be more careful – one of these days, I'll not miss…" She grinned impishly in a form of apology. The Nord woman brought her hand up to dig the small knife out of the bark of the towering tree it had landed in, slightly rusted Nordic armor carved with depictions of ferocious birds of prey and adorned with furs clanking obscenely with the movement. The large Stalhrim greatsword glinted icily from its resting place on her back, accenting the blue war paint smeared under her eyes in parallel stripes. Looping around her neck, the chord of leather hinted to the ancient Nordic amulet that lay under the cuirass of her armor.

Feric, however, decided to take the time to proclaim his distaste, "For Arkay's sake, girl, you walk like the dead! Make some noise next time, lest you fell me from shock!" Maeve gave him a dry look.

"I did make noise, Mr. Paurand. And here I thought you were a werewolf…are you not supposed to have advanced hearing?" she lamented, though her tone wasn't serious in the least. Still, the werewolf in question's near-permanent sour mood didn't fail to further in its negativity. He grumbled something along the lines of "I do!"

Maeve rolled her eyes, turning to the Dunmer mage, "Anyway, Sjard is coming. We thought we saw a hunter's camp a ways away – he went to check it out. It seemed abandoned, but it is better to be safe than sorry, right?" Neldam nodded to show he understood, crimson eyes giving his student a once-over for any injuries and, to his satisfaction, finding none. For a Nord, Maeve had proven years ago upon meeting the vampire that she held some aptitude for magic, and Neldam had wasted no time taking the now thirty-two year old human woman under his wing to hone the latent ability she had with Mysticism. Even though the blond favored her race's tendency to use heavy armor and greatsword above a path of spells, Maeve's ability in the school was a payment in homage to her long heritage of Skaal shamans.

"Yes. The last thing we need is being caught out here. It would be a stretch for me and Telindil to claim you, Feric, _and_ Sjard as servants…then runs the probability that if Justiciars found us they'd just kill you three anyway…it's becoming more and more commonplace."

"Speaking of Tel, where is he, Feric?" Maeve frowned, confusion flooding her eyes that was no doubt from thoughts of their tall Altmer friend who doubled as their little group's quasi-leader. "I thought the two of you left together for Elsweyr…he wouldn't have made you come here alone, not with the patrols nowadays…" Feric seemed to freeze before sinking further into a slouch, as if he was trying to disappear within the white robes that probably concealed the latest light armor set the Breton had managed to scrounge up. The werewolf's head was bowed in apparent melancholy.

From where he sat next to the man, Neldam frowned, brow creasing in concern as the silence dragged on. A rustling from behind him and a muttered inquiry as to what was going on alerted the Dunmer to Sjard's presence appearing, but he paid no heed.

"Hey, the camp was clear – just an odd group of gobli-…what's going on?" Eyebrow rising in question, the bearded, leather-armored brunette turned towards Maeve, who shushed him quietly. Feric fidgeted but didn't make a move to answer. A silence befell the five companions sans one that was only broken by the screech of a bird of prey somewhere high up in the majestic boughs of the forest. As if daring anyone to speak, the oppression from lack of sound continued on for a full few minutes before Neldam's curiosity got the better of him.

He reached a hand towards the centuries younger man, "Feric, what - ?"

"He's dead," Simultaneously, they all froze in shock. Neldam's jaw nearly hit the floor as he gaped in a rather impressive personification of a fish, Maeve let out a strangled yelp, and Sjard's brown eyes widened so much it was as if they would pop out of his head. Instantly, the vampire's mind tried conjuring up images of the tall, fair-haired high elf and couldn't. To Neldam, and probably everyone else in the small clearing, "Telindil" and "dead" were two words that had never been thought to go along together in the same sentence. Let alone pertaining to each other. Telindil Inganare had been the oldest of them all at just over four and a half centuries and had seemed nearly invincible.

Apparently, not invincible enough.

"What?" Sjard managed to choke out before the elf and Skaal. The werewolf pursed his lips and darted his green eyes anywhere but his three remaining companions.

"Telindil," elaborated Feric, voice pained regardless of his attempts to hide it, "is dead. We were making our way here out of Dune…Tel had managed to swipe a roster of the guard posts and when they changed. We were in the clear, but…there was a Justiciar patrol not even five minutes down the road that wasn't supposed to be there and they recognized him. Damned wizards shot him down before I could even draw my blades."

The female of the group sunk down onto the log on the other side of the Breton, eyes blinking back tears rapidly, "By the All-Maker…how did you get away…if they killed him so easily?"

Feric turned from shamed to snarling in a matter of moments, "What do you think I did, you stupid girl? I morphed into my beast form and sent them to rot in Oblivion like they deserve! Unfortunately, by then the guards back in the city had come to see what the fuss was about. I managed to turn tail and run, and by some stroke of luck, I lost them across the border into the forests. Then I made my way here." The silence settled again, this time not of confusion, but of mourning. Of remembrance that was short lived, for they all knew they had not the time to grieve properly. Time was at stake, and they could mourn later if they did not unceremoniously join their departed comrade too soon.

Neldam sighed, hating to be the one to break the silence but knowing it had to be done, "And what of the information you sought? What did you discover? Telindil should not have to die in vain – we must continue with what he started and believed in so much..."

"Yes, continue with it until when?" sneered the Breton man next to the elf. "When I, Maeve, and Sjard are killed? And you as well for hiding humans? No. We need to go to one of the sanctuaries."

Maeve's head bobbed in agreement, "I second that. There has to be somewhere that is willing to help our cause." The blond woman was scowling, probably thinking of the time eleven years ago when they had been turned away from a human sanctuary in Hammerfell. Neldam pursed his lips in thought, remembering the Great Purge and how the Thalmor had raided the human provinces. How they had driven the survivors into hiding in such a pathetic attempt at survival that it made his blood boil in a way uncharacteristic of him. The elf could still remember his family sans himself hiding away in an old Dark Brotherhood sanctuary in Cyrodiil and how easily it had been discovered. How quiet the whole ordeal had been, how it had driven the other survivors deeper underground. A part of him worried along with the rest of his little rag-tag group if here were even still sanctuaries left. The possibility of there being none was a heavily weighted cloud looming over all of their heads that Neldam would have rather ignored if given the choice. But it still remained that they _couldn't _take chances, of which remaining in the open so glaringly was, that stark reality that they had to do something before time ran out. Before all of their efforts were proven useless.

It was a daunting prospect, indeed.

"Alright, we'll see about finding somewhere," sighed the elf, exasperated despite his attempts to be acquiescing of the matter. "But what is important at the present is what you gathered."

The tall, bearded Nord man sighed, crossing his arms and leaning against the trunk of the very tree Nelam's knife had been buried in not a few moments beforehand, "High Hrothgar is abandoned, just as we thought it would be. I scoured through Saarthal, you owe me for that, by the way – Draugr are disgusting, and I can only guess everything is still with the Psijics…wherever _they_ may be. How long it will last, I can't tell, but we should be good on that end."

Feric's eyes widened sardonically, "You made it all the way up a barren mountain without anyone seeing you? _And_ across a wretchedly frozen province on your own? Why, Sjard, we're so _proud_! Neldam, I do believe our young lad here deserves an accolade!"

The elf in question glowered darkly, understanding the attempt at humor but finding it a revolting aspect nonetheless, "Be quiet Feric. I was with him. I just neglected going up to the monastery and through the tomb. Old bones and all, I'm sure you can understand." His comment was received with a resentful sneer, turning away to peer at the canopy of leaves overhead haughtily.

"From what I could tell, the magic around Direnni was still intact, if not dreadfully _old_," Maeve chirped, sending warning glares down her nose at the shorter man and elf that honestly could've made the vampire gulp and the werewolf squirm if not for their pride holding them back. Instead, Neldam beamed proudly at his student.

He praised, "Very good, Maeve. I checked Falinesti before coming here – rooted as it has been for the past several hundred years. No shock there, truth be told."

"Finally something you didn't shove off on your apprentices!"

A collective groan issued, "They have to learn somehow, you insufferable mutt. I happen to not believe in throwing them out to fend for themselves and call it a '_learning experience_'."

That mocking sneer appeared again, twisting an otherwise kindly face into the harsh weathered on they all knew and begrudgingly loved, "It builds character! And as for Elswyer, there hasn't been a Mane in years, just to add. They keep killing 'em off. Unless there was one born in one of the sanctuaries, which I highly doubt as everything in the confederacies seemed so _disconnected_ it wasn't funny, Elsweyr was a waste of time." A glare fashioned at Neldam was made to rouse guilt, but the dark elf let nothing of the sort happen as he tugged his hood further up on his head to accommodate for the changing angle of the blasted sun. It was a waste, yes, but at least they knew for sure instead of educationally speculating. And, grimly, he silently declared that the groupings had been decided by Telindil, not the self-proclaimed loremaster.

So, with a heavy sigh and knowledge that the others would understand his motives, Neldam stood up. They had the information they had set out for years ago, however displeasing most of it was. Safety was their destination, wherever that may be. With only the barest hint of a real location in mind, Neldam began walking northwards, the others following trustingly.

For every obstacle in their way, they just had to jump over it and keep running. It was what they'd always done.

And that was just how life was.

* * *

Final Words: I don't have much to say here, either, other than sorry for the delay. With Easter I had to go spend the weekend with my brother, who lives in the dark ages (I.E. no internet, cable, etc. - at least he has running water and electricity...it's an improvement) and then deal with my sister-in-law, who has decided she doesn't like the prospect of my soon-to-be step-mother. I mean, really? We accepted her, why can't she just be happy for my dad and I? Not like she has the right to say anything, she doesn't have to live with the decision. And, hey! I'm perfectly fine with it (I mean, really, my dad and aforementioned soon-to-be step-mom just had a food fight in our little galley kitchen at ten thirty at night - awesomeness!)

Anyway, here's some definitions of stuff that I don't think I make very clear in the writing or that I'm not planning on mentioning in detail for a while...:

**_The Great Purge_**: The Great Purge occured in Hearthfire of 4E 237. During this time, the Thalmor sequentially purged major cities of human occupation, killing a majority and enslaving the rest, only to kill them shortly thereafter. This event and the smaller, more hush-hush raids afterwards drove the remaining survivors and members of other races who disagreed with the purges into hiding. Old Dark Brotherhood sanctuaries were the first to fill up and also the first to be found, which led to migrations further underground, such as in Dwarven, Nordic, and Ayleid ruins. Today, there are few humans still living on the surface of Tamriel and those that do live lives of migratory lives of seclusion as far away from Thalmor detection as they possibly can.

**_Laloria_**: Ancient Aldmeris for "Dark Times", it was the name given for the week-long time span in Last Seed, 4E 239 (2nd - 9th) when Alinor King Mirkrali Sinyail, under Thalmor instruction, ordered the systematic execution of all human children born in that time frame. This was a result of a piece of an obscure prophecy that the Thalmor had acquired which led them to believe that a Champion of Man, who by then was essentially thought extinct, was to be born in that time frame. By this time, however, the majority of humans who were not killed or enslaved had secretly (and unbeknownst to the Thalmor) escaped to hidden, underground refugee camps. Only 3 cities on the surface still retained a human population – Solitude (Skyrim), Daggerfall (High Rock), and the Skaal Village (Solstheim). Of the three cities/settlements, upon Laloria, they were all subsequently purged of human occupation. Laloria was based off of the biblical Massacre of the Innocents. Whether or not it was a successful operation remains to be known. This becomes a frequently discussed topic in later chapters, which is why I'm putting it when it wasn't mentioned.

Well, that's all for now. You guys know the drill, R&R!

Grazie (that's my Italian coming out...mi dispiace XD)  
~ZealousPhoenix


	3. Chapter 2: Rokav gan'il as Malroua

_**The Elder Scrolls: Honor Bound**_

By: ZealousPhoenix245

Disclaimer: I don't own Elder Scrolls. All rights go to Bethesda studios and their respective peoples. I only own my original characters, cities/villages, events, and plot.

Quick Authoress' Note: I am sooooo sorry about the delay. I'm still behind in English (curse you research proposal...grrr...) and on Monday it was like every single one of my teachers except my U.S. Govn't decided to drop projects on us, and I've gotten behind even more because of _that_. But, right now, I felt that if I had to, one, make you guys wait any longer and, two, look at a powerpoint about chordates, invertebrates, and primates and how they fit on a cladogram, I was going to scream and do some pretty harsh things to my computer...I need sleep.

Anyway, in a matter of moments after I post this, I'm going straight over to my deviantART account and uploading some screenshots I took while playing Skyrim of the character creation...now, mind you, I went and created all of my main characters so far...Maeve, Sjard, Neldam, Feric, Ilavesa - I even made Telindil (I was bored). It's what I thought they would look like minus their weapons/armor and that which you can't get from the character creation, but you should still get the general idea. So, go and check that out, because I don't think I do them any justice by description...

Also, one final thing, I HAVE A POLL UP AND RUNNING! GO VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE PROTAGONIST CHARACTER SO FAR! That's all XD

Well, ENJOY!

* * *

"Pull me from the darkness,  
lift me back into the light,  
fill this empty vessel,  
fill this hole I have inside.  
Am I worth forgiveness?  
I can't make myself believe.  
Show me that you're listening,  
and tear this devil out of me."

~Devour the Day "Good Man"

* * *

***  
Chapter 2: _Rokav gan'il as Malroua_ ("Chaos before the Storm")  
***

Move, move, move, move, move!_ Her mind screeched at her, willing her short legs to pump themselves faster. A searing pain ripped through her arm, the knife wound there pulsing possibly worse than it had the hour ago when she'd acquired it. But just as she had then, she made herself ignore it and push onward. She couldn't let them get to her. They were gaining. The unearthly screeches and garbles were getting closer…closer…closer…_

_ …closer…_

No!_ Frantic eyes darted this way and that, trying to spy a manner to stall her pursuers and finding nothing but snow and low, bare shrubberies. Nonetheless, she tried again to tell her legs to move quicker even though she _knew_ she was at her wits end. She couldn't keep it up, but she couldn't let them catch her, either. Not after she'd gone through so much to get away from them and could taste her freedom so tangibly in her grasp!_

_ The acrid stench of burning wood and flesh still tinged the air around her from the rudimentary funeral pyre she'd foolishly thought she had enough time to prepare. Only minute regret would continue to plague her for the time lost, but she didn't let it eat her. It was for a good cause – Nirva hadn't deserved to die. The guilt would've continued to dissolve away at her very being had she not taken the time to pay her final respects, encroaching doom be damned. _

Almost_, her mind screamed at her. _Almost_. Hands deftly, _hopefully_, fingered the bow slung across her shoulder. Nirva's bow. Behind her, the braying of bloodhounds grew steadily louder. Closer. Prey-trained eyes spied the diverging pathways of the stone road thundering under her feet and, after the barest moment of contemplation, she veered to the right and towards the looming pine trees that could either prove to be her saving grace or the instigator to her eminent demise. Though she didn't chance a look over her shoulder, she trusted her hearing, and her ears told her that the snarling was beginning to recede. Regardless, she didn't ease up on her sprinting. She couldn't. Not when she was so – there!_

_ Already scraped hands scrambled to haul herself up into the boughs of a lower-sitting evergreen tree the barest second after she'd reached the treeline. Her elven eyes absently skittered to and fro in search for a sturdy branch with a good outlook, a good place to snipe down her enemies from the cover of thick pine. A smile curled onto her face after a moment of pondering, but it disappeared quickly as a hand enclosed around her ankle and dragged her back into the depths of a horrifying red gaze…_

***  
Tirdas, 11th of Last Seed, 4E 261

Continent of Tamriel, Blackreach, Village of Cael

7:35 AM  
***

I awoke with a gasp.

Bolting upright, I felt my long, albeit knotted, hair flutter about wildly only to rest haphazardly around my shoulders. My right hand flew up to cover my rapidly beating heart as it tried for unexplainable reasons escape from my ribcage unbidden, air rushing through my lungs in a fear of something I could neither see, nor fathom. And as the nightmare that had woken me escaped tangibly from my grasp, chased away by the chiming of nirnroots from below the window beside my bed, I was left with the cool stone enclosure that was my chambers. Nothing from my dream remained save the eerie glow of dangerous red eyes. Eyes not the crimson of my own Dunmeri ones, but the ruby of something more sinister, hungry, _dark_. Eyes that bore into the very soul and refused to let go, that refused to release prey from their master's clutches.

A shiver wracked my spine. Haunting orbs that prophesized the very epitome of danger. Of something more sinister to come that mournfully could not be escaped. Behind those eyes laid seas of blue dotted with white – the sky that we could not see from the depths in which we dwelled. Rolling hills of green un-tinged by the iridescent fungi and stones that deposited themselves where we had settled. The surface, in all of its glory reflected behind that terrifying gaze, and it was serene, also un-tainted by Thalmor rule like we all had been told countless times by the elders that it horrifically was. The surface that had never graced my line of sight due to the latent danger it presented for one of my kind, half human and half mer. Half of something that was forced to be supposed not to exist.

Those eyes, though! I could not place them as anything less than near-bestial, but intelligent. Frighteningly so. Only one thing remained, one thing that I did not want to acknowledge as possibility, as if from a distant memory that fluttered tauntingly out of my grasp just as the rest of my dream. They were the eyes of –

"Ilavesa!" a loud pounding knock at the heavy bronze door made me jump and inadvertently chase the red orbs that had remained from my nightmare out of my mind. "Ilavesa, you're going to be late! You know Lady Arethi specifically said she wanted you by the Lift come nine! Ilavesa!" The incessant pounding continued, causing me to groan and shove the ragged blankets off of my form. Wincing at the harsh coolness of the stone under my bare feet, I padded over to the blasted door and yanked it open. My patience was worn thin before it had even been given a chance, and I found quickly that I didn't care that I was still in my rumpled nightdress.

My muscles strained as they always did, but eventually the double slabs of heavy metal swung open, "What?" I snarled. Before me stood one of the younger boys in the village, Tralin, and he instantly went a shade of red at the sight of my informal dress. Only about thirteen, the Redguard child didn't quite reach my shoulder and showed that he was a tad shorter than the average for his race. His dark skin looked a shade of purple in the ethereal light echoing around the caverns of Blackreach from the large, glowing blue mushroom spores that gave luminosity to our otherwise dark prison. I allowed only a moment of peace listening to the waterfalls located below where Cael had been constructed on the platforms near the entrance to the now-destroyed dwarven ruin of Raldbthar before quirking a raven-colored eyebrow at Tralin expectedly.

"Come now," I encouraged as the boy stuttered, "As you said, I don't have all day. Is Mother at the Lift now?"

He nodded, his voice a bit louder than need be, "Y-yes!" I let a small smile form on my face, irritation melting away as I ruffled the barely-a-teenager's curly hair.

"Then go and inform her that I'll be there once I'm dressed. I daresay she'd be disappointed in me if I arrived clothed as I am now, yes?" I had barely even removed my hand from atop the boy's head before he shot off like a bolt from a crossbow, embarrassed even though he tried admirably to hide it. A smile tugged at my lips as I watched him scurry along for a moment. Sometimes, it was funny how proper his parents had taught him to be, as it made him exceedingly easy to tease by putting him in mildly embarrassing situations such as seeing a young woman in her nightclothes. Regardless of the fact that the long white dress I was wearing was more than proper.

Chuckling lightly, I dragged my front doors closed and turned to gaze around the small, barely two-room stone cottage that I had claimed as my residence as soon as my overprotective priestess mother had allowed me to. A small fireplace laid in the center of the back wall, not much more in construction than a stone-enclosed gap with probably some of the only wooden framing available in Blackreach, but it served my purposes just fine. The channel for smoke extended up behind the wall, invisible but there, nonetheless. Atop the small ledge that served as a mantle, I kept a few stacks of books and a solitary candlestick, the shadowed titles along the spines reading out names like _Cleansing the Fane_, _The Arcturian Heresy_, and _The Falmer: A Study_. Old books that had been brought underground with the initial Purge survivors, priceless artifacts in a way and valuable resources in the art of passing time.

A few stone chairs sat in front of the makeshift fireplace along with a rug that had been woven by Tralin's grandmother for me before she'd passed on four years ago. It had a simple design of gold and blue stripes with a small border of black vines intertwining their way through the alternating colors. A small stone and metal end table was placed between the two cushioned chairs bearing a singular candle that I only lit when I was reading, which explained why the wax was nearly halfway gone when I'd replaced it only yesterday. Against the far right wall sat the table I used for dining, small as it was, and it housed the kettle that I cooked most of my meals in. A few bookshelves that were stuffed to overflowing took residence in the corner next to the table. I couldn't help grinning sheepishly at it.

The left side of my small home was walled off with an archway covered by a cloth as a makeshift door, and beyond it laid my sleeping chambers. Glancing guiltily at the books where they shouldn't be, I made my way beyond the cloth barrier and made quick work of changing out of my nightclothes. Donning a durable pair of leathery pants and a long sleeved shirt of the same dark material, I strapped on the elbow pads, knee pads, boots, and chest guard that was made of a thicker leather for protection. With the increase in Chaurus attacks lately, one couldn't be too careful, even if Chaurus weren't much of an issue to extinguish.

Sighing in slight dread, I exited my home and began traversing the platforms that led to the Great Lift at Raldbthar. It was one of several that had been destroyed upon settlement in Blackreach, both above ground and below just for insurances. Only one entrance remained, and that was the old dwemeri mechanism in Alftand that we had been taught couldn't be opened from the outside through the use of anything other than a dwarven attunement sphere. Of which we had also been taught during my lessons was very rare.

All in all, these caverns were made into our safe haven. But along with that safety came constraint that we bore grudgingly. Most of the newer generations, including myself, had been born in the caverns and did not know what the surface world looked like. It was sad, but at least we lived to wish so.

With my small home at the very top of the series of platforms, I had to weave my way along the other small stone constructs that held equally as small families. Somehow, the circular slabs of stone had been enlarged once-upon-a-time to be able to hold two medium-sized cottages comfortably with enough of a path through them to traverse. To ensure no one fell into the water below, small fences had been placed along the edges made of the trunks of the glowing, jellyfish-esque mushrooms around Blackreach. If nothing else, it ensured the path was lit and it doubled as a safety feature, so I suppose no one could complain about one of our only sources of light down here being used.

On the remaining, lower areas sat the markets and a few small businesses housed in buildings that had once served as homes for people who had moved further into the capital of Highgate or one of the other settlements. The pumping station had an elevator encased in a pavilion that was dotted with a few currently abandoned market stalls, and a platform a bit higher up had stalls circling a large column containing a gas torch that miraculously still worked despite its age. Altogether, we had a peaceful little village, and it was home.

By the time I had descended to the rocky soil by the lake's edge, the sounds of the village market starting up began to dance through the air. I smiled and gazed for a moment at the calm pastel blue color that the water was tinged due to lighting and focused my steps over to the tower that had once served as the Great Lift at Raldbthar. It was inactive, the entrance barred in warning against entrance considering that the entire tower above ground had been collapsed deliberately about a year before my birth for safety reasons. Now, there was only one entrance to Blackreach that hadn't been destroyed, and that was going through the old Dwemer city of Alftand and using the dwarven mechanism there. It couldn't be opened without an artifact called an attunement sphere, of which only a few existed. Then any possible intruders had to make their way past the old automatons in the actual ruin, which had been reset. We occasionally sent people to check on them. So far, the farthest one wannabe adventurer had gotten was just past the entrance where he died from grievous wounds caused by a sabre cat.

Pathetic, isn't it?

Once more, we were safe here. And that was all that mattered.

As I approached the old Lift with the prattle of cows in the small area of farmland that expanded past the tower and a chicken clucking as it skirted about my ankles, my dunmeri eyes caught sight of my mother, Nadene, standing impatiently. I smiled lightly.

A lot of people said that I looked like my mother, and they would be right to say such. While I was half Breton, most races followed that the offspring resembled the mother in physical traits. Hence why I looked like a full dunmer when I wasn't. Only small differences could be seen – my mother's skin was slightly more blue-tinged than mine, and her eyes were a much richer color of red to accent her ebony-turned-silver hair that was pulled back in an almost painful-looking bun – but there was not a doubt that this woman standing in the hooded blue robes of a clergy had birthed me.

"Good morning, Mother," I greeted warmly to her withered smile, embracing her quickly, "I apologize if you were waiting. I'm afraid I overslept." Her eyes crinkled with her mirth, making the lines already etched lightly there from age all the more apparent.

Her hand waved airily in dismissal, "Nonsense, my child. I figured that was the case when I sent Tralin to fetch you." In the lighting provided, I noticed her amulet bearing Stendarr's symbol flash proudly, and couldn't repress my own grin from forming. As a priestess of Stendarr, and one of the few priestesses in general, many in Cael looked up to her for leadership, something that I was proud to say had led her to becoming the closest thing to a leader our village had. The citizens let her speak for them, and she did so humbly and effectively. Nadene had always told me that it had been almost a culture shock for her, as back in her homeland of Morrowind where a different religion was followed, she was viewed as a heretic. She had come to Skyrim, the province above Blackreach, to live quietly, but hadn't gotten much of a chance before the Great Purge. She'd never liked Thalmor ideals, and so she'd followed the survivors and hadn't looked back.

I let my brow furrow, "Yes, what was it you needed to speak to me about, Mother? You sounded upset about it last night…" A nod and a gesture to follow ensued, and I did as such regardless of my confusion.

"Walk with me, Vesa," the request spilled forth as such, accented by my nickname, but I knew it was more of an order by the stern look I received as we made our way to the cobblestone path that led to…Highgate? "And the city is not our destination." She remarked at the wary gaze of fear I sent towards the yellow orb visible that I knew hung over the city in question. Relief smoothed my features. An aversion to Highgate was one of the things my mother was most understanding about for a plethora of reasons.

My arms crossed as a brief chill enveloped my lightly armored self, and I crossed my arms to protect against it, regardless of the fact that I was somewhat used to it, "Of course. You know me well. But if we are not destined for the city, where are we to go?" The cobblestones felt familiar under my feet as we took the path almost leisurely, my knowledge of the roads reminding me that it would take us past where one of the old golems stood deliberately inactive. Our trek would also take us past Highgate, but it was to be expected as most roads in Blackreach did at one point or another.

Mother nodded towards a Nord trader possibly from the settlement by Mzinchaleft, Olthorne, if the colors of green and silver he wore spoke for anything as he passed by on a cart filled with a few odd metal trinkets, possibly to be traded for crops or furs, "You are my only daughter – it would be wrong if I didn't, my dear. We travel to Alftand."

"Alftand?"

"Yes," said the older priestess, "A few months ago, we received word that a small order of people were attempting to seek refuge in one of the sanctuaries. Lord Irbrand agreed to allow them here."

I quirked a dark eyebrow, ignoring the twinge of discomfort at the mention of the quasi-leader that resided in the city I despised, and asked, "An _order_ of people? Mother, I mean no disrespect, but you _do_ realize how…_odd_ this sounds? What if it is a trap?" I watched the older woman fiddle with the small rope belt that circled her cerulean-clothed waist. An old dagger made of steel rested in a sheath tucked into the rope that my mother had called Bloodthorn for reasons that always escaped me as I'd never seen her actually utilize the weapon.

"There are three humans out of four members," she elaborated after a moment, "and one dunmer. All I can really say is that they are part of an order that has been around for generations. They were doing what they could on the surface, researching things that I cannot say because I do not know. All that was disclosed to me was that their work was important while they could still carry it out, and with as few members as they have now and with the majority being human, it was becoming too risky." Beside us, an Argonian huntress, a woman my village knew as Lurks-in-Shadows in lieu of her native name, passed with a haggard gaze. A dead Chaurus was being dragged behind her scaly tail, and I did not miss my mother's wince. For years, Cael had been plagued by the beasts. Even though they weren't too terribly hard to kill, they were actually rather intelligent and knew to swarm us in numbers that made us wonder just where they kept their nests. Every year we hunted down cocoons of them until there were none left, but they still kept coming.

Sighing, I continued on with the track of the conversation as we began passing an archway near the entrance to Highgate, the buzzing from the city echoing dimly around the vaulted caverns, "But no one trusts them." It was not a suggestion that crossed my lips, but a fact. An observation.

Lord Irbrand would not have sent me with my mother if there wasn't some doubt about these people. He would've met them personally.

Typical noble, always looking out for themselves. I scowled.

Nadene nodded, not lowering her eyes the few inches to meet my gaze, "No. You know how we hear information from the surface, by sending people to scout around Alftand. It's getting too dangerous for our people to spend too long outside, even if they aren't human. Too many people up there are suspicious nowadays of people they do not know."

Not responding, the rest of the walk towards the other end of Blackreach occurred in perpetual silence. A part of me was still overly wary of these newcomers. In all honesty, I had long since believed that any human occupation on the surface had been killed years ago. It made sense. The Thalmor weren't forgiving, and as my mother had mentioned, surface contact with the various sanctuaries was exceedingly limited. This Order had to have known how to communicate with us in some manner, and I didn't know if that was frightening or comforting, good or bad. It could've very well been either. And I certainly didn't want to think about the latter.

*****_Don't mind me – I'm just your friendly neighborhood time-skipping line break_*****

"Are…they it?" I asked, incredulous as I stared at the four people standing outside of the entrance to Alftand studying just about every inch of it in barely-contained curiosity. In all honesty, they didn't look like what I had expected them to – a group of elderly scholars they certainly were not. There were three men and one woman, the tallest a Nord dressed in a form of leather armor obviously of better quality than my own with a somewhat thick beard matching the brown color of his hair and eyes. At his hip was a war axe that appeared to be made of gold and glass, and I allowed myself a moment of admiration towards the type of weapon that we didn't get to see much of underground. The woman was a tad shorter than the Nord man, sharing the race if the thick, heavy armor depicting the heads of animals and icy greatsword on her back spoke for anything. Her blond hair fell beside her face, blue eyes accenting the blue stripes of war paint that crossed her marginally high cheekbones.

The next tallest was a hooded man dressed in blue robes of a much darker shade than the cloth my mother wore. At his waist hung pouches and a lone elvish dagger, the herbal quality of one (a bit of Thistle was showing from the rim) and the overall strong aura of magika emitting from around him made me instantly peg him as a mage. His hands were a pale greenish color and I didn't have to see his shrouded eyes to know that the man was the lone elf of the group.

Next to him was the shortest and final member, though I supposed the former description had something to do with the fact that the man was hunched over, grumbling obscenities at the ground that I couldn't quite hear clearly. He wore robes of ivory, but lacked the pouches at his waist and instead only had a pair of ebony shortswords at his sides that made me warier than I already was. Salt-and-pepper (though, more "salt" if I had to mention) hair shagged in messy waves and half-lidded emerald colored eyes rimmed with wrinkled skin showed his age, and the crossed white scars on his lower left jawline told of a life exposed to violence. He was a Breton and the aura emitting from around _him_ seemed to remind me somewhat of a dog, though I couldn't fathom why.

So, no, elderly scholars they certainly weren't…

_SLAP!_ Ouch! I winced, my hand flying back to cradle the back of my head where my mother had slapped me. Turning towards her with a look that clearly screamed '_What in Oblivion, woman?_' I got a harsh glare of reprimand in response that sent me cringing anew.

"Ilavesa Helvianne Arethi!"

I downright blanched. Middle name – ouch…

Whining, I asked, "_What_? I didn't do anything, Mother!" The glare worsened as I rubbed at the abused portion of my poor, poor cranium. Quickly, though, my female parent quickly forced on her mask of perfect politeness mixed with just the right pinch of guilt to make it genuinely pitiful.

"You must be the refugees we were told about," her voice was dripping with honey in a manner that didn't seem too fake but wasn't quite believable either – it showed that she was out of practice with her speechcraft. "I apologize for my daughter's words. She's yet young, I'm sure you understand…"

Smiling from under his drawn hood, the dunmer man (also the only one not going completely awe-struck over the surroundings) replied forgivingly, "Neldam Llethri, milady, it's a pleasure. I'm sure Miss Ilavesa meant no harm by her comment, and so I speak for us all in that there was no harm done." Being prodded in the ribs by Mother's elbow, I played along with a sheepish grin, dropping my right hand from where it had lingered on the back of my head.

Mother bowed fluidly, "Nadene Arethi, a priestess of Stendarr. As I'm sure you know, this is my daughter, Ilavesa. We were sent by Lord Irbrand to collect you and yours as he would speak with you about the arrangements to be made." The shorter bretonic man blinked a bit, coming out of his shell slightly in a manner that made me guess that he was the resident grump…

"You're a priestess of Stendarr? I thought the Vigilants had died out decades ago…" His voice was gruff, even, like the bark of some sort of canine. I narrowed my eyes and noted that his nose had an odd patch of lighter skin on it akin to an animal's, but my curiosity only lasted for a few moments before I guiltily lost interest. What business was it of mine if the man's voice sounded a bit off and his face was discolored?

"Oh, I'm not a Vigilant. Just a priestess, sir."

A "harrumph" of something I could only place as disappointment carefully hidden under irritation emitted from his throat as he looked away, a grumble of, "Feric Paurand…" giving clarity of his name. My brow quirked. Grumpy one, indeed…

Jauntily, the bearded Nord man pranced up (quite the odd sight if one would be inclined to picture it), shoving a large, callused hand out for my mother to shake excitedly, "Sjard Shatter-Shield, Ladies Arethi." Melting away into a smile, my confusion vanished as I shook the offered appendage with constrained glee. Sjard was definitely the opposite of Feric, that was for sure. My crimson orbs took a quick scan around the dankness that was Blackreach and decided quickly that we could all use some jovialness around here. Something, however, kept bothering me…

"You're a part of clan Shatter-Shield? From Windhelm?" I asked incredulously after a moment. The strange looks I got for my outburst did not compare to the bright look of pure glee that illuminated the tall human's face from the comment. From behind him, the armored woman let out a groan.

"Now you have done it," lamented the blond, "he will go on and on for hours with nothing to stop him while he traipses about offering tankards of mead to anyone who will listen to him utter even the barest syllable." Slowly, my eyebrows ascended up my forehead. Was it really that bad…?

Why, yes…yes, it was, "You know of my family? Are there any here in Blackreach? How do you know?"

I stuttered for a moment at all of the eyes on me, the one set of muddy brown ones so hopeful that it actually hurt for me to have to let the poor guy down like I was, "I-I read about them in a book…an old journal written by…Torbjorn Shatter-Shield, I believe. Around fifty years ago before he died." Dejected looks never made me feel too good, especially if I was the cause of it, and the tall Nord's crestfallen face and pathetic mutter of "oh" was no exception. The tips of my ears drooped.

His female racial counterpart gave him a sympathetic pat on the head, "You will find them eventually, my friend…I am Maeve, by the way. A Skaal." I wasn't familiar with whatever Skaal were, but by the fact that my mother remained a neutral façade through Maeve's introduction, I figured it wasn't anything terrible and moved on.

"I am afraid," Mother began, "that I am needed back in Cael. Apparently, Olthorne was shorted three chickens when we thought they were in surplus of two for their feasts this week."

I frowned, "Are you sure they aren't just trying to swindle a few extra from us and not have to pay for it? You have to admit, it sounds awfully much like something Endras would try to pull…" That wood elf had always given me the creeps…

"Show some respect, Vesa, or I swear to Mara's mercy I will knock it into you!" She sighed and continued as if she wasn't just continuing to sentence me to march directly towards the heart of my eminent demise, "Be a dear and show them to Highgate, hmm? Irbrand is expecting them within the hour and it isn't wise to keep him waiting, dearest."

Oh, no. No, no, no, no, _no_.

"You can't be - !"

"Quite."

I was left gaping like a slaughterfish whose next tasty morsel had just barely gotten away. Well _damn_…

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Final Words: Sorry, again, if the ending seemed abrupt. I'm tired, it's late, I'm overworked, stressed, and just genuinely worn out to the point to where...I dunno, but I wanted to get this out to you as it was, so here you guys go. I'll have more up when I can to make up for the shitty quality of this chapter...

Anyway, the title of the chapter was actually in Dunmeris. It's pretty cool - there's a page going into detail about the actual language. Just look up "Dunmeri language" and you should be able to find it. Pretty cool for a language nerd like myself...

Also, thanks bunches for the reviews and follows and faves! I love knowing that this story is read and liked by you guys - keep it coming!

Thanks again, and R&R!  
~ZealousPhoenix


	4. Chapter 3: The Order

**The Elder Scrolls: Honor Bound**  
By: ZealousPhoenix245

Disclaimer: I don't own ES. All rights go towards their respective persons. I only own my OCs (which are practically every character considering...) and the plot.

Quick Authoress Note: So sorry that this took so long. I had writer's block...then I had school which I had to rush to finish on time (All As and one B - not bad for half-assing it at the end because I was so far behind) and then my dad got married four days ago (yays!) and...just...yeah. Life decided to pay me a visit and I was not happy about it, but I'm back! Yay!

Not much to say other than I hope you enjoy! This was about 9-10 pages and about 4,374 words, so I hope it makes up for my lack of updates...

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Chapter 3: The Order  
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Tirdas, 11th of Last Seed, 4E 261  
Continent of Tamriel, Blackreach, Highgate  
7:35 AM  
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"A lot of people seem…depressed down here."

I paused in my movement, frowning and looking over my shoulder at the member of the little four-person group I was currently leading up the steps that led to our makeshift capital city, "Of course they do, Sjard. We know what lays above us, whether we have experienced it or heard the stories, but we're imprisoned. For our own safety or no, it's quite the dank prospect, wouldn't you agree?" Truth permeated every word from our dull surroundings. After all, how would one feel if in every waking moment lay the innate truth that family could be traitor and neighbor, foe? Surely the wariness accompanied by the knowledge that one's mother, father, brother, husband, sister, son, daughter, uncle could be a latent Thalmor spy waiting to spring. And the scenarios presented weren't far from actual happenings.

Simplistic and somewhat trivial as it sounded to most, it was what we lived with every day. In Blackreach, there was nowhere to run, no one to send reinforcements. Isolation was a double-edged greatsword…or maybe just a heavy battle ax to the back of the skull…I never could quite tell.

The brunette bobbed his head and I smiled, turning my attention back to the path ahead of me. I had (begrudgingly) done as my _dearest_ mother had asked (though I knew the reason as to why she'd weaseled her way out of escorting the group to see Lord Irbrand, I digress) and led the self-proclaimed Order to Highgate. Dread, fear, regret, hate, doubt – it all had coalesced into a heavy rock sitting painfully in the pit of my stomach that made me long to do nothing but scurry back to my cottage, curl up in my bed, and never emerge.

I snorted to myself – hiding under a rock under a rock. I didn't know whether that was poetic, ironic, or just plain stupid. Stuffing it back stubbornly, I swallowed hard and continued on towards the glowing orb that hung suspended above the center of the city.

Maeve's icy eyes scanned slowly up at the glowing construct, steadily growing wider, "That thing is just like a - !" I leaped in a kneejerk response to the sharp, primal hiss of pain that emitted from near the middle of the group behind me. We'd just entered the front gates of the city where the golden light began to wash over everything, and it illuminated Neldam harshly tugging the edge of his sleeve over the pale – _too_ pale – grey flesh of his hand and snatching the hood even farther downwards.

"Miniature sun?" snarled the thoroughly covered dark elf, causing the Skaal woman to wince in…guilty sympathy? "Yes, we've noticed! Is there any way to dim the blasted thing? By Azura, how do you people _sleep_ at night with that as bright as it is?" I blinked.

"U-um," the stuttering was unintentional, but his reaction had really startled me, "no, there's not a way to dim it. It was made by the Dwemer to be an _exact_ replica for the effects the sun has on organic matter. It's how the plants in the soil around the buildings are able to grow in a similar nature to surface foliage...and how a lot of people down here aren't pale as sin – are you quite alright, Mr. Llethri? You look rather ill…" Grumbling, I got something akin to a positive (if one would go so far as to classify a half-hearted "_fine_" as _positive_) response and let it drop. This group of four had secrets – it was obvious, but it was also, on the other hand, neither courteous, nor my business to pry.

Highgate hadn't changed much since I'd last set foot within it, and I honestly hadn't been expecting it to. The old dwarven ruin that it had been built in and around still towered over the pathways cut past the gates, and the few trading stalls showed signs of a commerce that was mostly patronized by the farmers and craftsmen that made their homes just outside the city walls. The moist air was tinged with dirt as it usually was in Blackreach, but there was something about the city that always smelled like freshly crafted metal and fire.

A flash of a double bronze door leading to the Hall of Rumination caught my eye, but just as I opened my mouth to point the empty building out to my unanticipated charges, a deep voice from the direction of the old Debate Hall caused me to freeze in my tracks and fight the deer-like response to turn tail and bolt the other direction, "Ah! Ilavesa, it's good to see you again! I trust you have not been bothering your mother too awfully much?"

The scowl to shame all scowls curled my face into a terrible sneer, but I couldn't help the pure, unadulterated hatred that I felt coursing through every fiber of my being. Sweet mother of Arkay…

Taking a deep breath, I forced my features into the emotionless mask of aloofness that was the only way I could deal with the man undoubtedly standing behind me as I turned, "Lord Irbrand. Mother is well – an incident was emerging in Olthorne that required her attention, hence my presence with the refugees you instructed to bring to you. As I've done what was asked, I'll now take my leave…"

Frowning, the middle-aged Breton man replied, "But I've not seen you in what feels like an age! Surely, I feel as if you're avoiding me."

_Maybe because I am?!_ I wanted to shout, but admirably held my tongue with only a grim look gleaning through. Shouting would get me nowhere with the stubborn Wayrest native. "I have been busy as well. The festivals have required Mother need assistance, of which I have been providing. Actually, of which I need to _currently be_ providing, so good day, my lord. May Stendarr continue to guide your path."

"Actually," I repressed a groan, "would you do an aging man a favor and show them around after I've finished speaking to them? I'm sure Nadene can handle whatever the issue is – I've no doubt of her capabilities." _Liar, liar, liar, liar_ – grinding my teeth, I pushed the words back into the recesses of my throat from whence they wished to come. Like a mantra repeating uselessly in my head, the fact that words would do me no good in retribution plagued my conscious and bounced around my skull reminiscent of an arbitrary spell gone awry. Sometimes, it seemed wishing the very depths of Oblivion would rise and swallow the man before me whole in a ceasing of my problems was a little too much to ask.

Leveling a glare, I attempted to remain as civil as possible, "I said, _good day_, Irbrand."

"If I would speak freely, my lord," Neldam interrupted, making me wince in personification of the manner which the other elf had moments ago for nothing good could possibly come from the current predicament I was quickly finding myself in, "if Miss Arethi wishes to attend to her mother, I'm sure my friends and I could manage ourselves. It has always been my philosophy that family should precede when the case should arise." Oh how I hated being right. Irbrand gazed at them as if they were the most absurd thing he'd ever borne witness to. My heartbeat invariably quickened. Did the elf not know he was beginning to tread on unsteady – nay, _terrifying_ grounds? Curse it all…It was then, of all times, that I took the cursory moment to observe the closest thing Blackreach would accept as a leader – shortly cropped russet hair and eyes the color of quicksilver were outlined in a rounded middle-aged face by only the barest creases. To show the elven history of his race, his ears bore the slightest of points, and his skin was the pasty color typical of nobles, regardless of the fact that in Highgate it was nearly impossible to escape the almost threatening replica of a sun.

Then again, I suppose I'd seen more idiosyncratic things in my time…

Lord Irbrand decided to proclaim rather dramatically, "Yes, I quite agree with you. Hence my disappointment that my only daughter is always in a rush to scurry off before we can get a proper conversation!" I blanched. Curses flew through my head a mile a minute, along with any and all ways that I could possibly make the group of four forget they'd just heard that spill from my…ugh, _father's_ mouth. Of course, since my knowledge was limited, that meant that I could do _nothing at all_…

Objectively, the differing reactions of the four newcomers _did_ hold the possibility to be quite amusing had they been invoked under very different circumstances. However, they had not, and I was left glaring daggers into the man who I wished with all my being I did not share half of my blood with. Confound it all…

Maeve's smile was obviously strained if the look in her blue eyes counted for anything, but I appreciated the effort, nonetheless, "Madam Arethi _did_ sound somewhat overwhelmed with the business in…Olthorne, was it? Perhaps she really could use your daughter's assistance?" I swear I could have run up to the woman and bear-hugged her. _Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, than-_

"Nadene is fully capable to last for a bit! Come now, we shall speak. Ilavesa, you too. You should learn these things yet! It seems you oft forget you'll be taking my place one day."

_To Oblivion with everything…_

I mustered a glare, but followed regardless as the copper-haired Breton whirled on his heel back towards the old Debate Hall. Eyeing the one Imperial and two Khajiiti guards around him with a look of perpetual disdain, I grumbled, "And you seem to selectively become hard of hearing when I remind you I've no interest in politics…despise it, matter of fact." The others' gazes sliding between my back and Irbrand's was not lost on me. They were confused, but to Boethiah with them!

Father sighed, shaking his head as if he was disappointed. _Bah!_ "Your mother has coddled you away from it, I'll admit. You'll understand when you're older."

"How much older do I have to be?" I cried, outraged, though I attempted to keep what little of my composure I could. "I want nothing to do with the very thing that shoved us into this prison in the first place!" Already half through the bronze doorway to the Debate-Hall-turned-throne-room, the copper-haired human whirled around to face me in a flurry of fine, plum and grass-colored robes. His quicksilver orbs were molten pools of a sadness that I wished so much to be able to burn off of his face slowly and painfully.

Mother always did say I was a tad bit of a gruesome child…

Silver bored into crimson, neither backing down, "Even the best of men and mer require some form of governance and guidance, my daughter. Alas, enough! We shall speak of this later, Ilavesa. It is not fodder for the ears of company. Come, now – we discuss business and I wish you there, regardless." Mustering up all of my anger, resentment, and betrayal into a final glare, I stomped childishly past him and his three guards. Choosing the staircase going up, I slipped by the stone planter containing annoyingly chiming red nirnroots and towards the balcony overlooking the thrones below. The now-throne room had once served as something the records noted as a debate hall for the dwemer. It was made furthermore obvious by the stone benches laid out along the sprawling floor in a neat line. An irritable look shot at the back of my head was barely noticed as my father veered off to the right and down the staircase to the bottom floor, his guards and the newcomers following in turn with only minute confusion.

As I settled leaning against the rail of the balcony above the thrones in a blatant statement of how little I cared for the conversation I was to observe, my father began speaking, "So I understand you are members of an unnamed order, yes?" Small talk – go figure…

"Yes," Neldam confirmed. "Unnamed for good reason, milord. Our Order began as a small sect of archivists and spies that worked directly for the Akaviri Dragonguard and, later, the Blades. With the Dominion's increase in numbers and their vigorous execution of Blades agents, we could not run the chance of our purposes being discovered, so we took hold of what anonymity we could." My eyes went wide. The Blades? Holy mother Mara…

"The Blades, you say? They've been extinct for…hundreds of years!" exclaimed Irbrand, obviously sharing some of my ideas if his tone and rigid posture as he strode up to his throne spoke for anything. The three guards broke off, the Imperial man bowing shortly and skittering up the stairs to stand beside me while the identical humanoid, charcoal-furred cats took their places on either side of the over-glorified stone chair…

Feric's dry voice chimed in, "Obviously _not_ if we're standing here. Imagine that, eh? Might want to check your records…"

"Quiet, insufferable wolf…" Neldam hissed, making me quirk a brow. "_Insufferable wolf_"? Perhaps…

No, no – that wasn't possible…but, the more I thought about it…

"Anyway, milord," Neldam's voice broke me from my inner musings, "the Blades existed, though more covertly, until a few decades ago where they were wiped out with the Purge. Our branch only survived because of our anonymity. Most within the ranks of the Blades for the past two hundred years didn't even know our Order existed. Around the 2812th year of the first era began construction of Alduin's Wall by Emperor Reman II. This was when our Order was formed officially." Beside me, the Imperial guard perked up. Now that he was closer and the shadows cast by his helm scarcer, I could place him as a young man named Marcus. I'd only seen him in passing a few times, but I remember hearing once that he was around twenty-five years. Perhaps, I could not be certain. Village gossip wasn't the most reliable.

"Alduin's Wall…I've heard of that before!" the human exclaimed, greenish-hazel eyes sparkling happily and drawing attention from the crowd below, much to my distaste. "Didn't that hold the prophecy about the Dragon Crisis?"

From below, the dark blue-robed elf grinned proudly, "Yes it did, boy! You've been well-informed."

"Books do that," I quipped sarcastically. "Though, I have to ask, why in Oblivion would a completely separate Order need to be formed just to set a prophecy in stone? Is that not a bit…well, overkill?"

The older breton beside the dunmer scoffed, "The information for the prophecy came from an Elder Scroll, insolent girl – use your head! No one in the Blades could exactly call themselves a Moth Priest, so unless we wanted to go blind, reading them was out of the question. And there had to be a way for us to _get_ the Scrolls, just to add. What you don't hear about is the fact that they mysteriously ended up neatly tucked away in the libraries at Crystal Tower. Something the altmer did, no doubt. Not to mention, other information that was needed for it was spread far and wide across a Tamriel that was still cowering from the possibility of another Akaviri invasion, but I digress." Frowning, I fell silent. I hadn't known…

"They needed spies," Maeve elaborated quickly, trying to mend any possible repercussions with Irbrand for Feric calling his daughter insolent – I could say without a doubt that there were none as my _dearest_ father just sat there almost uncaringly, "and eventually, we became nothing more than that. So much so, the Order became anonymous to many in the Blades save for the Grandmaster and possibly an Emperor here and there who was well-informed. Otherwise, we vanished – worked covertly as we knew no other way."

Irbrand nodded, scratching at the short beard growing on his chin, "I see. Though an interesting story, it doesn't explain why you're here."

My eyes rolled and I muttered to the guard beside me, "Leave it to him to start the subject and then patronize them for not getting to the point." A look was sent in my direction, but otherwise pointedly ignored. Not that I expected anything else from someone who served under the man I was complaining about.

"We seek asylum, simply. Operation on the surface is no longer a valid option – one of our own was killed recently and I feel risking what little of us are left is a rather idiotic thing to do."

Asylum, eh? Who said that anymore?

* * *

***  
Tirdas, 11th of Last Seed, 4E 261  
Continent of Tamriel, Province of Cyrodiil, Imperial City Sewers  
4:07 PM  
***

* * *

Footfalls echoed along the crumbling, but no less sturdy, stone corridor as his leather boots made contact with the flagstones lining the walkway. The reverberations of the two guards following behind him slid deftly in one ear and out the other as the man walked, pointedly ignoring his entourage with distaste blatantly obvious along the golden creases of his face. His yellow eyes were darkened with age, perhaps wizened if one knew better to see past the anger settling like sand on a lakebed. Cool, moist air fluttered about the tunnel, the earthy smell tinged with something unwelcome reminding one of its only occupants of its situation underground. But much like his companions, the altmer striding confidently brushed the fact off. It was of little matter to him where he was. All that mattered was that _he _was there too.

It was simple – give the information, get his orders, and get out. Even though he kept the façade up and knew that there wasn't much that his superior could really do to him that wasn't detrimental to their cause as a whole, it didn't stop the miniscule amounts of fear from plaguing him, regardless. Sinyail wasn't one to be trifled with. In truth, the man currently striding through the subterranean tunnels was probably the only one who dared stand up to the Emperor as he did. But it was only because he, in turn, knew he was indispensable. Should the moment ever come that he no longer was as such, then it would be another story entirely.

The Thalmor robes he wore itched, he thought absently as he pulled a sleeve down over his wrist uncomfortably. It only proved that it had been far too long since he had donned them in lieu of his undercover work. Unfortunate as it was, it had been a necessity and he _had_ garnered some very valuable information from it.

Like, the location of one of the largest settlements to have formed after the Purge.

Squeaking its protest at the movement, the rusted hinges of the sewer gate gave way with the barest of pushes once he came upon the dimly candle-lit cavern that laid beyond, "You're late." It was a simple statement that met his ears upon entry, but it had no less effect than had there been physical action. Fear sent a shiver down the elf's spine that was barely contained. Stoicism was key, he reminded himself, and Thalmor agents didn't show fear. It was a weakness that was reserved for the human populace. It was part of why they needed to be purged. But definitely only a small fraction of the reason…

Because they all needed to die else the ones of higher blood remained trapped and no better than skeevers writhing in the filth of existence. No question about it, their extermination was necessary on a plethora of levels.

He barely noted his few escorts breaking off hurriedly as he dropped to a knee in reverence to the still shadowed figure looming across the way, "My apologies, my liege. I had to make sure I was not followed. If my cover was blown this early in the game…well, that would be no fun at all."

"You're forgiven, Commander. Rise. Groveling makes you seem no more pathetic than those we hunt. I trust you have the information I seek?"

Finally, a glimpse as the altmeri Emperor of the New Empire of Tamriel stepped into the candlelight emitting from a wooden table at the center of the sewer chamber. Silver hair cast dim gold in the firelight fell in wisps that escaped a small ponytail at the base of his neck. Mirkrali Sinyail had eyes of a striking lime color that could freeze just about anyone in their spot with the obedience they simply commanded with a glance. Though, the left one was more of a milky color, blinded from an assassination attempt several decades prior that had thankfully enough been thwarted. Fine wrinkles merely of stress lined the face of the five centuries old mer, but they made him look just that much sterner. Finally, robes befitting of an emperor draped off of the form of one decidedly accomplished in the arcane arts, and an enchanted amulet (though what it did was lost on the commander as he could never decipher the magiks behind it) completed the visage of a ruler that was not to be trifled with.

Somewhere in the distance, a rat scurried away at the sound of parchment being retracted from the commander's black robes, "Yes, milord. Twenty years were not in vain. I found one of the settlements." Sinyail took the paper stoically, laying it flat to reveal a map with an area of Tamriel circled. The word _Blackreach_ scrawled next to it. The emperor's face contorted.

"Did we not send Emissary Elenwen there back in 252 under these same suspicions?"

"Yes, my Emperor, we did," confirmed the commander with pursed lips of resignation. "The First Emissary and her entourage were never heard of again, if my lord would recall."

Sinyail sent his commander a scathing look, "Send another one. I want to know why they couldn't get down there. It can't be that hard to go through a musty old ruin. Give explicit orders to eradicate any civilization they may find if they do manage to breach whatever barricades may be set up. What of our progress in High Rock?"

"There is progress, albeit slow. I received word from our head scholar in Upvale. She believes that it would be in our best interest to follow our first plan of action. She doesn't see any other option," his tone was low. The commander didn't like being the bearer of bad news, but then again, he kept reminding himself that this wasn't as bad as it could possibly be.

It didn't stop Sinyail's nostrils from flaring the slightest bit in irritation, "So be it. If that is what those in the field feel is best, then it is the course I shall allow myself to be advised to take. How go our efforts of finding _him_?" Mirkrali's subordinate leaned over the map of Tamriel illuminated in a sickly light by the dimming candle, pointing to Morrowind's stark location on the tattered paper.

"Morrowind has been thoroughly searched. Even Solstheim was not ignored. I have ordered searches to be conducted in Skyrim and High Rock as well. Those seem most likely for him to travel to. Though…"

Sinyail glared, "Yes, Commander? Spit it out…"

He took a deep breath, locking eyes with the Emperor in a bold move that only he would dare, "My liege, you know that if he does not wish to be found, he won't be. It is quite probable that we will _never_ pinpoint his general location, let alone actually attain him. If he's even still alive."

"Well," stated the Emperor calmly, leveling the commander's stare right back with equal intensity, "that does not mean we won't try. On another note, he's not stupid. I don't think he'll stay hidden for very long, much less do I believe that the bastard's dead. He consorted with Daedra in the worst of ways. You don't just up and die after that, nor do you not garner some wisdom from the event."

A brow raised, "Pardon my bluntness, but do you speak from experience, milord, or from bearing witness?"

Silence dripped much like the melting wax from the candle. Ominously, the air became heavier with an emotion that the commander couldn't quite place, but also didn't really want to. For a moment, he believed he had gone too far; overstepped his bounds and that very fine line that he toed often with perhaps too much confidence. But after a few moments devoid of any spells or orders for the guards no doubt occupying the hazy corners and shadowed nooks to unceremoniously remove his head, he realized that he'd merely taken the leader by surprise. Not necessarily the best thing to do, but he would at least live to see another sunrise.

"Perhaps a bit of both, Commander. But it hardly matters. That was lifetimes ago. Before I realized the strength in our cause." a bitter laugh ensued, devoid of humor. "Enough of this. If you hear word of his location, inform me immediately, and the moment they find out what, if anything, is in Blackreach I want to know. For now, though, I want you in the field. Tell me, how are your ward spells?"

The grin practically oozed self-confidence lined with a touch of arrogance that was actually well-deserved, "Still the fastest on the continent, unless someone has managed to take that title from me whilst I was away."

"Good," chortled the Emperor, "I'm sending you to Skyrim. Karthspire, a miserable little are in the Reach, if I do believe." The commander frowned.

"The Reach?"

Sinyail grinned in a manner that echoed his subordinate's previous expression, "Yes, yes. The Reach." There was an unasked question lingering in the air of why, but there was no need to vocalize it.

"Because I want to know what exactly was told on Alduin's Wall."

* * *

Final Words: Okay, I don't really like this chapter much, but I wanted to get it out to you. I worked through a semi-writer's block because I felt bad :/ But, it's here. So yay.

Anyway, that part about Elenwen? I couldn't resist. I hated her. Like, with a burning, fiery passion. Making her die in such a way just...was too much of a temptation for me to resist.

And I wonder who the Commander is? If you can guess...well, you're just freaking amazingly awesome and should be a detective. Like, seriously.

Anyway, R&R!  
~ZealousPhoenix


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